


"When Love and Need Are One"

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Episode Related, First Time, M/M, Need, Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-15
Updated: 2010-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing Scene for Season 2, "Need." Jack takes Daniel home after he's mostly recovered from sarcophagus withdrawal. I believe this is the first Jack/Daniel I wrote, and it was posted in 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"When Love and Need Are One"

Daniel was standing by the lockers, facing the Sisyphean task of putting his clothes into a duffel bag, putting his books and his spare glasses and his broken glasses and his shaving kit in his duffel bag to take home, so he could go... home. Dr. Fraiser had released him and he could go. Home.

Jack walked up quietly, and waited in the locker room door a moment, watching Daniel move, so slowly, so haltingly, watching how his white dress shirt hung on his shoulders, how he seemed confused by the simple task before him.

Jack knew how that felt -- to look at your own watch band and wonder if it were about to turn into a worm and crawl away. To look at the door of a locker, swinging a little where you had unintentionally nudged it, and wonder if it were about to melt off and puddle on the floor in front of you. Jack remembered how surreal the world could get.

"Hey," Jack said, softly, and only started moving closer when Daniel turned to look at him. Daniel had been really, really jumpy for days now, and why make it worse.

"Jack," Daniel said, and turned back to his open duffel. It was confusing. Shove the underwear and socks in next, or run screaming into the gate room and smack his head against the iris? Repeatedly? Hmm.

"O'Neill, reporting for chauffeur duty," Jack said jauntily, but still softly.

Daniel turned to him again. Daniel was distantly astonished at the fact that he suddenly, stupidly, wanted to cry. Again.

"You don't have to do that," Daniel said.

"I know."

Jack stood there, patient and unmoving, until Daniel hesitantly zipped up his duffel and closed and latched his locker. He stared at his own name on the locker for a few seconds, as if it were written in code.

Daniel followed Jack, through the corridors, up the elevators, signing their names, watching as Jack accepted salutes, trailing Jack until they emerged outside. It was comfortable, usual. It was a relief, just then, simply to follow Jack. He balked when Jack opened the passenger door of the truck for him. He had almost assumed, or thought, Jack would follow him home, see he got there okay...

"Really," he began. Jack went around and got in the driver's side and started the engine. Daniel quickly climbed in and shut the door.

Jack was glad that Daniel didn't try to argue again when they got to Jack's house. When they were up the steps, through the door, inside, Daniel stood in the living room and clutched his duffel's straps, looking around as if he'd never seen the place before. Jack finally took the duffel away from him and put it in the guest room; the same room Daniel had stayed in when he first got back from Abydos, the same room Teal'c had stayed in when Hammond had finally let him off base for a weekend.

When Jack got back into the living room Daniel was still standing there, looking at the floor, his palms making damp spots on his corduroy slacks. Jack thought about pouring a scotch, figured no, it would be rude, he knew Daniel was under strict orders to stay away from booze, cigarettes, drugs of any kind, wild women, you name it. Okay, maybe a beer? Well, that would still be rude since Daniel couldn't have that either. He didn't really like Jack's beer, but still, it was rude. True, Daniel maybe had a little payback coming for leaving them to die in the mines and all, while he was hopped up on snakey mind control, but Jack didn't really enjoy thinking of himself as rude when he was the host.

"Come on," he said, and led the way up into the kitchen, letting his hand linger on Daniel's shoulder and slide across it. He felt more than heard Daniel follow him. It was weird, Jack thought, getting out jars of tomato sauce and a package of pasta and then spinning the spice rack, considering his options. Weird how quiet Daniel was being. Not-good weird.

He knelt and got out the big kettle and pushed it at Daniel, who blinked before apparently having to order his arms to bend and grasp it.

"Water. Sink," Jack said, pointing, and Daniel actually tried to smile and focus. He filled the pot with water and got it on the stove top while Jack found another pan for the sauce. He opened jars, and then started doctoring up the sauce with garlic and so forth. His back was to Daniel as he searched for some bagged parmesan he was pretty sure he had in the freezer.

"I'm sorry," Daniel said.

"You already said that." Here it was. Cheese in a bag. Couldn't be more than a month old in there. He had remembered right. It was nice to be right.

"I just. I just feel so stupid. I feel so stupid that I let it get away from me that fast. I remember... I remember the first time it was a considered decision -- I didn't know what it would do to me, I had no idea, and I thought, well. I thought I could bargain with her, go along, you know? But after that. I can barely remember it. I can. Barely remember." He was leaning on the cooktop, looking into the still-cold water, his shoulders up around his ears. "Christ, Jack, I'm sorry."

"You already said that. Several times." Jack took a deep breath and set the parmesan bag on the counter and turned and put his hand on Daniel's shoulder. Drips of water hissed on the bottom of the kettle as they turned to steam. The pan ticked.

"I could have killed you."

"Better than you have tried," Jack said, lightly, and Daniel turned under his hand and stared at him, brow knitted, drawn so tight, leaning toward him, but very still, like something was holding him back from the new hug they both felt happening already. Jack had held him, there on the floor in the dark storage closet, and the world had not ground to a halt when the guards, with Janet and two huge orderlies on her heels, had stormed up, finding them there, sprawled and helpless, Daniel's head on Jack's shoulder, Daniel's tears making a big wet spot on the collar of Jack's fatigues. The world had not stopped, no one had gasped -- at least not at the hugging part -- no one had so much as raised an eyebrow. They had helped Daniel, and that was that. Jack had sat there on the floor as Daniel had sobbed in his arms, and now he remembered how Daniel's bare feet had looked, so white and odd and vulnerable, framed in the light from the hallway. He rarely saw Daniel's feet. He had felt Daniel against him for at least a day afterward. He had done that, gathered Daniel to him like that, and so it was much easier to do it again now, here in his own bright kitchen, with no one to see, no one to know, no one to judge.

"Hey," he said, admonishing, drew him in, cradled the back of his skull with one hand and tightened the other against his ribs.

Daniel thought he might cry again, kind of expected to, actually, since everything he was doing already was so fucking batshit crazy and out of character. He might cry, he might scream, he might do anything, he might peel out of his own skin, knock the pot off the stove, steal Jack's truck, drive to Vegas.

"God," was all he said, letting Jack catch him, hold him, help him. He inhaled, smelling the stale tang of heating copper and aluminum, smelling Jack's aftershave, the faintest trace of sweat, the soft smell of the cotton sweater. He closed his eyes. Jack was warm. His arms were strong. Jack was ... petting his hair.

When had he realized this -- that Jack would help him? That Jack was not his CO, his boss, but something very different, something Daniel didn't really have a word for. Jack had told Teal'c once that the team was Teal'c's family now, and Daniel had been amazed, stunned, to hear that. Jack wasn't blind -- he knew Teal'c had a wife, had divided loyalties, had inner conflicts that the three of them could only guess at, but that Jack knew that about Teal'c, could articulate that. Incredible.

It was true, though. Daniel himself had known it and said something similar when he had helped Sam with Cassie. Later, he and Teal'c had proved it when they had, by unspoken agreement, kept vigil together, brainstormed and worked and dozed and fussed until they had figured it out -- where Sam and Jack had ended up when the gate had malfunctioned and stranded them in Antarctica.

They were, in fact, family, the four of them. They were. And the certain knowledge that Jack already knew that, could speak that, could act on that, allowed Daniel to accept it again now, different as this kind of help from Jack was. Daniel always kind of counted on Jack to save his ass when they got into a firefight with some Jaffa or the random angry resident of a new planet. But this kind of help was ... comfort. This was something he couldn't have imagined before Abydos, before the family that came with Sha're, before the stargate had captured him once again and changed everything. Everything was changed, everything was new. So, why not this? Why not family? Why not his team? It was good, it was fine, he could accept that and lean on it. And then, once again the wave of guilt and remorse knifed into him and he couldn't think any more. He just leaned into Jack's arms and tried not to cry. Again.

_I left them in the mines for days. I nearly killed them. Then I nearly killed Jack again; and I beat the shit out of Mike Saunders and broke his nose._

Surely he would straighten himself out soon. This couldn't go on, this kind of horrible tape loop of self-reproach.

Jack just held him, not moving, except if you counted the way he was, well, petting Daniel's hair. Finally, Jack said, "I think we got a boil," and Daniel had to straighten up and turn and look, and yes, the water was boiling, and yes, the other pot was bubbling lightly, a simple red sauce, and Jack let go of him. Jack started breaking spaghetti in half, one small bundle after another, and dropping it into the pot, calm and capable, and for Daniel the room kind of coalesced and got vivid again, got real.

"I am so fucked up," he said, and met Jack's eyes. They were soft and kind. Daniel took a breath, and felt it, really felt it, the air coming in and going out again, the tension leaving his shoulders, the way his chin dropped.

Jack almost grinned, but not. He was smiling, though. You just couldn't see it. "So what else is new?" He rummaged for a spoon in a drawer and stirred the pasta.

"You want to put some olive oil in there or it will stick together when you drain it," Daniel said.

"Oh yeah?" Jack said, eyebrows up, and the laughter and the look of _What am I? Stupid?_ in his eyes made Daniel want to shout. He didn't. He did one of Jack's invisible smiles, though, and he picked up a small jar of dried basil and carefully read the label.

"This is normal stuff, isn't it? Cooking? Dinner?" The corners of Jack's mouth twitched, but he kept stirring the pasta, waiting for it to come back to the boil. "I think I can do normal," Daniel continued.

"Normal's kind of a moving target for you, isn't it."

Daniel smiled and turned to the pantry to find some olive oil.

After dinner they made a fire in the living room, and Jack went ahead and had a beer. Daniel was kind of crashing again. He felt torpid and full and safe for the first time in days. He had a tumbler of ice water, and it tasted so good. He sipped from it, watching Jack fidget around the room, adjusting the corners of photos, looking out the window, picking at the corner of his beer bottle label. Jack stuffed his free hand in his pocket when he fetched up in front of the fire again, as if he realized how many useless gestures he was making. Daniel sighed and sank deeper into the sofa, leaning his head back.

"Are you okay?" Daniel asked.

"Yeah. I'm fine," Jack said, and he looked over his shoulder at Daniel a minute and then came and sat beside him. Their knees bumped, then bumped again as Jack got comfortable. Daniel closed his eyes, but he still felt Jack fidgeting.

"Thanks for having me over," he said. "It was probably a good idea, but I'm reluctant to admit that."

"It's my third career," Jack said. "Babysitting you."

Daniel snorted, but it was too close to the truth to really be laugh material. He couldn't laugh. He pressed his lips together. He felt Jack looking at him. Jack bumped his shoulder.

"Come on," Jack said. "Kidding."

Daniel sat up a bit so he could look at Jack. He was smiling, but there was something else in his face, something Daniel couldn't read. Daniel nodded and looked at the fire, sipping his water.

"Kidding," Jack said again, and then he felt Jack sigh and Jack's arm was around his shoulder again, tugging him nearer. Offered comfort -- why was it the offered comfort that shoved him closer to tears again? Stupid. He clenched his jaw, but he leaned in, fit his shoulder under Jack's and just went with it, sat there until the feeling that he might cry had passed. He wasn't right yet. He fucking wasn't himself, wasn't right. God, wouldn't this be over soon. It had been a week. He needed to be over this. He turned his head, resting his cheek against Jack's shoulder. Jack tightened his arm. It felt so good that it took Daniel a few minutes of sitting there, watching the flames, before he realized what was happening, how it was happening.

Well, wondering why Jack was snuggling him on the sofa was better than remembering how Daniel had pointed a gun at him. He must be incredibly fucked up for Jack to offer this, to think Daniel needed this much coddling. But he found he didn't want to move away, so he didn't.

Jack had to close his eyes. Much better than feeling the bulk of Daniel's sleeping form in a tent, within arm's reach but untouchable, much better than holding Daniel when he was wounded or strung out or otherwise fucked up. Much, much better.

So this is how it surfaced, finally. The shock of Daniel talking about Shyla like that, the blunt dumb assault of Daniel coming down off the sarcophagus' jolts, Daniel worse off emotionally than Jack had seen him in months. Jack wasn't surprised at how _much_ he felt for Daniel. He knew his team meant the world to him, more than any bunch of people he'd ever commanded. And Daniel being so special to him -- Jack had faced that when he'd thought Daniel had died on that watery psychopath's world and Jack had been so upset he'd busted out Hammond's car window. To say nothing of when Daniel reappeared after Jack had left him, wounded, in the corridor of Klorel's ship. Jack knew he didn't want to do this work without Daniel. Hell, he knew he loved the guy. But he had to admit, now, what it meant that he didn't want to stop touching Daniel tonight, that he wanted to backhand that evil princess, that Daniel's pain was kind of breaking his heart, here. Who knew that Jack O'Neill still had a heart to break. Okay. Surprise. News flash.

If he sat really still he could feel the pulse beating in the big vein of Daniel's arm, under his palm. He could feel Daniel's breath on his neck. It was good. This was something he didn't want to stop feeling. So he didn't move away.

They sat there until Daniel dozed off.

_Pasta,_ Jack thought. _Works every time._

He slowly finished the beer, wished for another one, and didn't stir. Daniel was warm and heavy against his side. The fire burned through a log and fell apart, but he didn't stir. Then another log broke and rolled, sending coals and ashes spattering through the hanging screen and onto the rug, and Jack had to move to sweep up the coals. When he had rebuilt the fire, and dusted his hands, and turned, Daniel was looking up at him with narrowed eyes.

"We should hit the sack," Jack said.

Daniel got up and came fairly close to him, maybe a little too close. "You really think so?"

Jack stood there and looked at him, feeling helpless. This was stupid. Futile. Bad timing. All those things. What Daniel must be thinking.

Daniel licked his lips.

"It helped," he said.

"What," Jack said, though he knew what. He knew by how Daniel was standing there, so close, too close.

"The hugging," Daniel said, and son of a bitch. He did it again. They stood there in front of the fire, and Daniel put his arms around Jack and put his face in Jack's shoulder and there was nothing for it but to put his arms around Daniel again, and oh this was good. This was so good, on so many levels. It was relief, and it was tender and good and... yeah. That too. Son of a bitch.

It was odd, how it changed right there, and how he knew it changed for Daniel, too, just turned on a dime like that. Odd how a hug could change from something simple into something very complex. Daniel shifted his weight, his breathing quickened just a bit, and it wasn't something friendly and good-night-ish. It wasn't even _thank you for everything._ It was an embrace. They both tightened their arms, they were both breathing funny, and Daniel leaned back a little and he said, "I'm going to kiss you," and then he did.

Then it was both of them. One wasn't doing something to the other; they were doing something together, they were kissing each other, over and over, warm small kisses. Soft clinging kisses. Experimental dry kisses, tasting of Jack's beer and of tomato sauce.

"Oh shit," Jack said, but he didn't stop, and Daniel smiled, and Jack felt it and it made him smile, too, and they kind of paused to look at each other, grinning, embarrassed, and then Jack started them off again. Longer kisses, and Daniel had his hand on the back of Jack's head.

"You've done this before," Daniel said, between kisses.

"Years," Jack said, not stopping.

"Men," Daniel said, a question.

"Been years," Jack said, and then he didn't want to talk quite so much, so he tried nailing Daniel with a bigger kiss, licking a little, and that made the backs of his knees get that delicious hot melting feeling and made his dick stir in his pants, and Daniel must have liked it, too, because he made some kind of nice sound in the back of his throat. Daniel edged over to the sofa again, taking Jack sideways with him, and they were sitting, really kissing now, making out, breathing hard. It was fun how they took turns, pushy and then receptive, both of them. That made Jack smile again, through the kisses. Probably they would be that way whatever they did, he thought, reasoning by analogy. He slid Daniel's glasses off and found the end table behind his own back by touch. Daniel was holding Jack's face, cupping his jaw with one hand, his eyes closed, flushed and intense.

"God, Jack," he said.

"I know," Jack said, and he didn't want to stop. But maybe they should, and maybe Daniel was feeling the same thing, because they took a little break, not by design. They just paused, foreheads together, leaning on each other, as close as they had been when Daniel lost it on the floor of that closet, but Daniel was feeling so much more about Jack now -- so much realer, his friend's warm body, his strong hands, his mouth, Jesus, his mouth. So good, so much better now.

"Can we do this?" Daniel said.

"You think I have a plan?"

Daniel leaned back. "Uh oh," he said, but he was smiling. The smile faded, and they looked into each others' eyes. The moment hung there, full and heavy, and Jack was asking and Daniel was wanting, and Jack swallowed.

"Come to bed," he said, and tugged on Daniel's shoulder a little.

The weight of memory, of obligation, of shame, of pain and loss, broke against Daniel again, and he said, "I shouldn't. I can't." And his lips formed the sound that would have made the next word he said _Sha're,_ and Jack quickly put his fingertips against Daniel's lips.

"No strings," Jack said. "No talking. Come to bed." But he didn't tug this time, he just waited, and his dark gaze burned into Daniel's soul. Daniel got up, and he walked down the hall to Jack's room and Jack followed him. He got all the way to Jack's bed and stopped, and turned, and Jack was already undressing, with a look on his face of intent resolve. Hardly any lust, which Daniel thought was so odd. Jack's black sweater was on the floor, soon followed by his undershirt, and he bent to pull off his shoes and socks, making his dog tags swing a little, and then he looked up. Daniel realized he was still just standing there.

"No backing out, please," Jack said, and maybe he was smiling just a little. Daniel looked around, gathering his courage? Gathering something. And he unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and stripped it over his head. Jack had a belt on, but Daniel didn't. They both wore boxers, Daniel noted, but after all, he already knew that.

Then the covers were coming over them and it was a shock, the cool cotton and all that hot skin, and the legs interleaving and the hot firmness of Jack's groin and Daniel thought about his lost wife one last time before he let himself forget, disappear into the now.

_This is different,_ he thought. _Because it's Jack, it's different._ But he didn't finish the thought, figure out what he meant -- different than what, how different.

It was lots of kissing, lots and lots of kissing and rolling over and pressing against each other and finally hands, moving together as their gasps got louder. Jack's leg was pinning his own, and they had made an interlocking space there, in the shelter of their hips. They leaned together, and it was wet and fast and Jack groaned when he came. Daniel was silent, but he gripped Jack's shoulder so tightly, and he thought in a corner of his brain what a lot of come there was when it was two men, and that made him smile.

"Oh god," Jack murmured. "Danny." And he slid and turned them and they held each other in the golden lamplight until their breathing slowed.

"Hell of a wet spot," Daniel said, and Jack laughed.

"Plenty of bed over here," he said, and scooted over until they were on a fresh section of the sheets. Daniel closed his eyes, stunned and half asleep, his mind whirling with thoughts just out of reach. He noted Jack breathing against his shoulder, and decided that "no talking" was a good thing, and if Jack knew this was the first time he'd been with a man, well, what did it matter and why should he announce it anyway. He became willing to sleep, to let it all go.

He awakened to find Jack leaning on his elbow, looking at him, messing with his hair a little. They considered each other for a while as the morning grew brighter in the room. Jack's chest hair was so gray, Daniel thought.

"I don't want this to change anything," Daniel said.

"You're still married. We're still SG-1." Jack's voice was matter of fact.

"Will we do this again?" Jack's hand stilled on Daniel's temple. Jack looked at him for a long time, and leaned over and kissed him on the mouth, and got up. In a minute Daniel heard the shower, so he figured he should strip the bed and make coffee, and so he did, banging around Jack's kitchen, examining his odd mismatched coffee mugs from the London Underground and from the local lumber yard and from the Air Force. Then he got in the shower, and when he was out, Jack was dressed. Daniel decided he wasn't going to classify Jack's non-answer as a "yes" or a "no." He was going to set aside the entire question for the time being.

They were in the truck, on their way back to the SGC, when Daniel said, looking resolutely out the windshield, "I never fell for her, you know. It was totally the sarcophagus. It was terrible, the grandiosity. The feelings of loving all that control. I guess that's what cocaine is like, or the worst bipolar episode of all time. I said terrible things. I did terrible things."

"It's over now," Jack said. "That's all that matters. Nobody's dead, we're back home. That's all that matters." Jack put his hand on Daniel's knee for a moment, which made Daniel happy.

But Daniel knew there was more to it than that. The first Jack knew of Daniel's resolve to make things right for everyone, to save another frigging planet, was his speech to Hammond. Amazing, the way he needed to fix the things he broke, this need Daniel had to make things right. Jack recognized it. When Daniel calmly insisted they return to Shyla's planet, everyone was stunned, but they could see this was their old Daniel talking. Not some lust-and-power-crazed addict. The dawning relief in the room was palpable. Jack knew they were waiting for him to speak, to support or to oppose this idea of his archaeologist's. He looked at Daniel, and noticed how much more clearly he saw him now, saw the crow's feet and the bit of dry skin on his lower lip, the soft sheen of his cheek because he'd shaved with one of Jack's good razors, how he parted his lips as he waited to learn what Jack would say. Jack turned to the general, and he didn't even have to think about what words to use. It was so clear to him: What he always did, would always do.

"We can back him up, sir," he said, and so they did.

~~~

_"Only when love and need are one  
And work is play for mortal stakes  
Is anything ever really done  
For heaven and the future's sakes."_

\--Robert Frost


End file.
